Home
by ShinyGreenApple
Summary: With most of her loved ones having crossed to the next world, Elizabeth is left with but one person to pass the lonely years. Massive spoilers for AWE.
1. Gifts

_**Home**_

_**Disclaimer: **_This isn't mine, I just like filling in the gaps.

The Jolly Roger. The first time she had seen it grinning at her, she had been but a small child. It's cavernous eyes spoke of doom and terror, yet she had been unable to suppress a thrill that touched her from head to toe and back again. Through the years, the flag had become ever familiar to her, through captivity and battles and the occasional retreat. She had relayed the order to fire upon the vessel from which it flew, probably at that time never dreaming she would be on the other side, goading on its merciless assault upon a ship of the line, and alongside two captains that had both seen death and come back to tell of it. The flag that billowed and flapped high above the decks of the _Black Pearl_ most recently had flown in victory, in defiance of those who sought to destroy a quickly diminishing way of life all in the name of civilization and lawfulness.

Yet now, as it was gazed upon by Elizabeth Turner as she stood at the railing of the _Empress_, the tatty old flag seemed to speak of home and familiarity most of all. In the past few months, she had established herself well enough for someone fairly new to the practice of piracy, but she could not help but feel that something was lacking despite it. She had arranged for her crew to return to Singapore until she sent for them, though she knew not when that day would come; she was certain that the captain would not be stingy with his hospitality. He never had been in the past. Save for one unfortunate incident, anyways, and she admitted that she had brought that upon herself after all. She decided that whether his mood was gracious or bitter, it mattered not; she was confident in her ability to convince him otherwise should he prove to be in less than high spirits. Gathering up what small number of belongings she had decided necessary, she took a deep breath and began her trek across the gangplank.

The Captain of the _Black Pearl _made a slow and lazy descent from the helm of his ship, smiling at the sight before him. To look at her, she was small and frail and would break rather easily, but only those who did not know her would come to such a conclusion. However, he could not help but be slightly disheartened; she did not look quite as well as she had when last they had parted ways. Her normally tanned face sported a pale hue, and her sure step seemed ever so slightly shaky, though that perhaps could be attributed to the chest she toted in one hand and the disheveled bundle that precariously occupied the other arm. However, judging by the determined smile on her face, she seemed to be thriving otherwise and he fancied she would have attempted to skip across the gangplank that was laid between the two ships, had her various burdens allowed for it. The way her step quickened, if only a little, when she made it halfway across, did not escape his attention, and when she had finally reached the _Pearl_, he was there waiting for her with a smile on his face and an outstretched hand. The sloppy bundle she allowed Ragetti to relieve her of, but she kept a firm grasp on the chest, awkwardly tucking it under one arm as she placed her other hand into the Captain's own weathered one and cautiously hopped from the plank. Crossing between ships was something she had yet to master, and was secretly glad for the way he grasped her wrist in one hand and let the other go to her waist to steady her. Once she had gotten her feet situated beneath herself, she stood regarding the man before her with a confident and almost impish grin. He looked down at her as if sizing her up, his hands resting atop her shoulders. It was he who finally broke their comradely silence.

"Why, Captain, it's been too long."

Her grin widened. "I've brought something for you."

He followed her gaze as she turned about; a young boy was running enthusiastically over the path she had just crossed, an enormous basket swaying back and forth in his hands. He came to a halt at the end of the plank where his captain stood with her strange friend, seeming a bit shy and taken aback at the man's appearance, but managing to gather his wits about him.

"A gift for you, Captain Barbossa." He thrust the basket in Barbossa's direction; the man cast a suspicious glance towards Elizabeth and back at the boy with his proffered gift. She gave a sigh of exasperation, rolling her eyes at him.

"Well go on, take them."

He narrowed his eyes at her, but took the heaping covered basket from the boy, nonetheless. "A heaping great mess of fireworks all set to go off no sooner'n I touch it, I imagine." He set it down on the deck and took a cautious step back, drawing his sword. She placed her free hand on her hip and stared at him indignantly.

"Honestly, Captain, do you think no better of me than that?"

He looked up and grinned at her slyly. "I don't trust ye, if that's what yer askin'." He wedged the tip of his sword beneath the woven lid of the basket, flipping it off. He was greeted by the sight of a heap of shining green fruits, and a genuinely pleased smile graced his lips as he shook his head, lost somewhere between disbelief and delight. "Still don't know if I should trust you. They might be _poisoned_, after all", he added with a wink. They regarded each other for just a short moment longer before giving in to laughter.

"Come on with you, then", he said, taking up the basket and putting an arm about her shoulders. "That is," he added, "if you'll be willin' to join me."

"Do I have a choice?" she asked playfully.

He shrugged, a mischievous sparkle coming to his eyes. "You could always dine with the crew." They exchanged knowing glances at one another, both reminiscent of the strange way in which they had met and the stark changes that had taken place since that day. Although perhaps some would say that nothing had changed at all as they watched the two of them striding calmly towards the captain's quarters, he with his apples and she with her chest. Yes, it was evident that the only thing changed was their alliances. And despite the terror she had encountered because of his actions, and the regrets he later experienced due to causing it, given the chance, neither of them would have changed a thing.

"And might I ask what brings the great King Turner aboard the _Pearl _to mingle with underlings such as myself?" he asked haughtily. Despite his playfully sarcastic tone, she could not help the slight flush rising to her cheeks.

"Captain, please, just Elizabeth", she stammered, suddenly preoccupied with the floor.

He smiled softly, though more to himself than to her. "Very well then. Forgive my poor manners, but it would seem you've grown a good deal thicker through the middle than you were when last we met, Elizabeth." During their entire exchange on deck, he had never once mentioned the obvious state with which she was in, despite the raised eyebrows and grins on the faces of his crew.

She returned his smile, glancing down at her swollen middle and absent-mindedly stroking a hand over it. "I _am_ a married woman, Captain. Thanks to you."

"Aye, and I see you've made the most of it."

She nodded, the smile fading from her face, replaced by a look that was almost sorrowful.

He nodded at her stomach. "When?"

"Six weeks, more or less. At least the healers tell me such."

"Hm", was his reply, and he seemed to grow lost in thought for a few moments before coming back to himself. "Best go ahead and dig in, then", he said with an unusually gentle smile.

It would seem to him that she had taken to heart his statement regarding no need to stand on ceremony nor call to impress; he watched with quiet amusement as she took freely of the provisions at his table, ravenously devouring her food as if it were the first she had seen in ages. She brought her actions to an abrupt halt when she noticed him staring from the corner of her eye, pursing her lips in slight embarrassment and causing him to chuckle.

"Seems not much has changed besides your name, Miss."

"Well, seeing as how you're no longer unable to actually join me, I thought perhaps you wouldn't feel the need to gape. I suppose I was wrong."

"Ah, but I still enjoy gapin' at ye, be I mortal or not. It be in my nature to do such."

"So I see", she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes once more. Resisting because she knew he was absolutely right, and that she would be heartbroken if ever he chose to behave himself otherwise.

"I noticed, Captain, that you haven't said a word on Jack's whereabouts."

"I noticed you haven't asked."

"Very well, then, I'm asking now. Although I do trust you haven't done anything too terrible."

It annoyed him that she was so lightly throwing about the word 'trust', even with him, and it was clear by the lack of concern in her voice that she honestly did trust he had not done something unforgivably wicked with Captain Sparrow. He sighed with a small amount of frustration.

"Last I saw, he was more pissed than a rat what's drowned in the still, standin' on a table in Tortuga singin' some silly song about sheep and eggs. I slipped off with the crew, save of course for the boys you took, and Master Gibbs, and the rest be history." He grinned wickedly. "Old habits, ye know."

She stared at him, unsure of whether to be displeased or amused, shaking her head.

"And I'll have ye know I consider me and him squared; he stole my charts."

"My charts."

"_Your _charts?"

"Sao Feng did lend them to you, did he not? I'm sure he had no intentions of letting you keep them. Meaning if they had been restored to their rightful owner, they would belong to me." There may have been a bit of truth to her words, however her tone was light and her eyes still sparkled. He smirked at her.

"Regardless, they be gone."

"What did you want them for? To go and retrieve from hell all the people you've killed?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "No, Miss. To be seekin' a legend. You'd have enjoyed it, I imagine."

She nodded, her smile slowly fading once more. "You're right. I would love to have joined the legendary Hector Barbossa on yet another quest for things of fables." She shook her head, her hands resting on her protruding middle. "Though that would seem quite unfeasible now."

She no longer appeared to be the naive but fiery woman who had summoned him to the helm of the _Pearl _during a maelstrom, nor even the timid young spitfire who had invoked the right of parlay all those months ago. As she sat at his table, she seemed frail and weak and so very unlike herself; he found it to be a somewhat unsettling sight. He pushed back from the table, now regarding her with concern. She lifted her gaze to him, unable now to conceal the tears that pricked at her eyes, threatening to spill hotly down her face. He rose to his feet and found his arms suddenly filled, her face pressed tightly to his chest and tears soaking his shirt.

"Captain . . ."

He pulled her closer, lightly stroking her head. "I know, Miss."

"Everyone's gone. My father, and Will, and even James is gone now. You don't know how lonely it's been all this time." Her words came muffled against him and between choking sobs, and what bit of reluctance he had left him, and he resigned to sitting on the bed, strangely unsurprised that she sat on his lap, clinging to him like a small child. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that the seemingly lost and lonely King would be staying with him for quite some time, that she had once again managed to make herself a guest aboard his ship without having been invited. He was not a man easily frightened, even in the presence of a goddess scorned, or Davy Jones himself. It did not frighten him that he would likely be assisting in the delivery of the child fathered by the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, nor the idea that he may very well end up with the little whelp scampering about the _Pearl _for God knew how long. In that moment, as he sat with a young woman that could almost be called a widow, who remained in his lap as she continued to saturate his waistcoat with her tears, it frightened him most that he was just as unwilling as she to relinquish his embrace.

And there, sitting ominously in the corner of his cabin, was a chest.

**A/N: **Well, what do you think? I can't help but feel that this one might be itching for a second chapter, or perhaps a sequel or companion piece.


	2. Vigil

Apologies, I know it's short.

_**Vigil**_

_Six weeks later._

He had never been a sentimental sort of person, but Barbossa admitted to himself that the sight which met his eyes was altogether lovely, and that was aside from the fact that it provided him with a great deal of relief from the uncharacteristic worry he had been plagued by in the past week. For all his insisting that she allow him to return her to Singapore, or at least some place halfway civilized where she could employ a midwife, Elizabeth had been adamant about staying aboard the _Pearl_. Her stubbornness on the matter was heightened as the time of her child's arrival grew closer, and she went from refusing to leave the ship when they made port, to utterly refusing to leave the cabin he had allowed for her use. Not his own, of course; he was not quite so hospitable as to give up his comforts for those of someone else. The one she now resided in had long been used as nothing more than a storage den, as he had no one serving as first mate, but he had ordered it cleared out for her when it became apparent that she would not be parting ways with him anytime soon.

He sat now in a chair beside her bed, looking on her fondly as she slept; sweat-drenched wisps of hair clung to her cheeks and forehead, but her face was the picture of contentment as she lay there with a small bundle in her arms. William Turner the Third had not come quietly into the world. His arrival, in fact, had cause the largest commotion aboard the _Black Pearl _since perhaps the time it was preyed upon by Jones' leviathan. If Barbossa had learned anything about Elizabeth that day, it was that no matter how exhausted she grew, she could still scream. Loudly. She, in turn, had learned that he could scream just as loud and worse, and to those outside the cabin, it sounded as if holy war had broken out behind the closed doors. Unfortunately for Ragetti, he had been selected by Barbossa as the person most suitable to assist him in the process, and after all was said and done, the man was not sure whether his captain or Elizabeth had caused him more of a fright that day.

Barbossa could not help but be plagued by a bit of guilt as he looked up to find Ragetti cautiously entering the cabin just now, and he began to recall bits of what had transpired earlier in his fits of urgency and rage.

'_So help me, boy, if ye swoon or toss yer vittles, I'll put that other eye out!'_

Having never been anything but swift to follow orders, the man had simply nodded shakily and did his best to maintain a steady head about him as he sat with Elizabeth, who had kept a tight and painful grip on his hand. Presently, he stood beside the Captain, observing their young charge and her issue.

"'E looks like Will, don't he?"

Barbossa nodded. "Aye, he does. Let's hope that's the only part of Captain Turner that he inherits."

Ragetti was not entirely sure if the Captain was being genuine or sarcastic, and simply leaned towards the bed for one last look at Elizabeth and the child before turning to leave.

"Master Ragetti." He stopped in his tracks and turned about to face Barbossa.

"Yes Capt'in?"

"What I said earlier about," he motioned awkwardly towards his own eyes. "Didn't mean it."

"I know."

-

Late that evening, Elizabeth sat up in bed, committing to memory every last detail of her son's tiny face and anatomy and thinking to herself just how much he did look like his father. She was distracted from her task by the sound of the door creaking open and Barbossa's uneven footfall. He approached the bed and smiled down at her.

"Worth all that trouble, Mrs. Turner?"

She answered without hesitation. "Every bit."

"I'm glad", he answered dryly. "I've had my hands more than full tryin' to keep the entire crew from burstin' through that door to come an' pester ye for a look at 'im."

"You're too kind", she replied, emulating his tone. "And you have my gratitude."

He raised his eyebrows. "Do I, now?"

"You're impossible. Come here."

He looked at her somewhat skeptically, taking a step or two closer to where she sat. She rolled her eyes. "No, come _here_." She took him by the hand, pulling him down to sit beside her and kissed him firmly on the cheek. "Again, thank you, Captain. You've been good to me."

If her sudden gratitude had taken him by surprise, he would never show it. He merely grinned in that manner unique to only him. "I know."

"However a good man you are, I don't believe you ought to go telling people you're going to put their eyes out when in truth you have no intentions of doing so. It can't possibly be good for your professional reputation."

"Neither is it wise to be lettin' people know ye were intentionally listening in on privy conversations when they were made to believe ye were sleepin'." He glanced down at young William. "The two of you gonna be alright this evening?" She nodded softly, once again directing her attention to the small wonder in her arms. The past few nights, Barbossa had gotten it in his mind to take a vigil and sleep in the chair at her bedside, much to her lasting annoyance and comfort. However, tonight, she felt she would rather be alone with her William and her thoughts.

If the Captain had fancied to try and repay her gratitude, he was immediately discouraged from doing so when his attentions fell once more to the chest that resided in the corner and the surreal knowledge of what lay inside. Feeling suddenly sobered, he rose to his feet, giving her a lopsided smile and an odd, but affectionate pat on the head.

"Good night, Missy."

**A/N: **You've no idea how close that came to being a kiss on the mouth. Congratulate me, for I resisted.


	3. Lessons

_**Lessons**_

_Five years later._

Elizabeth gazed thoughtfully at the shore as she stood leaned over the railing of the _Pearl_, idly wondering if her legs would still remember how to walk on solid ground. It seemed like forever since they had last made port; she had seen firsthand that Barbossa was every bit the pirate she had read of in stories as a child, and he was good at what he did. There had really been no need to make port so long as he kept an eye open for profitable ships to fall upon; they lived off what goods that were pilfered from said unfortunate targets, and when all else failed, the sea was always full of suitable things to be had. Yet after seemingly countless months of sailing upon it, everyone had agreed that it was high time for a shore leave, if only for a short while. The spot which Barbossa had chosen to drop anchor looked promising enough, desolate though it was, and Elizabeth was not alone in hoping it would turn out to be different than their last venture on land.

Through what Jack would have called an unfortunate series of circumstances, she had nearly been the main attraction at a most bizarre auction involving less than savory looking characters. Never had she been so glad to see the relentless Captain of the _Black Pearl _come into sight, sword and pistol drawn, and as eager as ever to dole out judgment as he saw fit. She shuddered at the memory. It had not so much been the idea of being in danger, but the idea that she had been rendered helpless for that short time; it was not at all a feeling she very much liked. Not wishing to dwell on the unpleasant event, she looked once more to the sandy beach ahead of them, and the lush growth that lay beyond, her thoughts brightened by the prospect of fresh water, a swim, and maybe something hot to roast that night, if they were fortunate. She was roused from her plotting by the sound of her son and the Captain approaching, both clearly sharing her idea.

" . . . and if we find one, can I kill it?"

"No."

"Why?"

Barbossa stopped to face the boy, squatting down to look him in the eye and struggling to retain his patience. "Because, if you be anything like your father, and his father before him, then ye have more chance right now of misfirin' and shootin' one of us, more than likely meself, than ye do of shootin' the daft hog."

Young Will furrowed his brows at the man before him, trying to work out if what the Captain had said was a genuine insult.

Always one to have figurative honey on his lips, Barbossa continued. "What say we make an accord? If you can manage to keep yerself outta the way, and quiet so as not to scare the hogs off, and don't get yerself shot, I'll teach ye to skin one. What say ye?"

Will clearly did not think he had been given a fair deal, but decided that skinning a hog would be better than getting pent up in the cabin or stuck waiting on the beach like most of the other times they went ashore.

"Alright", he said with a pout. Barbossa smiled, patting him on the shoulders.

"That's a good lad." He gave a sly, sidelong glance at Elizabeth as he stood to his feet. "Most definitely his mother's child; already in a hurry to be killin' things."

She narrowed her eyes, smirking at him. "Let's not forget who else has been around for these past years with their barbaric influences."

"Why, Mrs. Turner, I don't know what you could possibly mean by that."

"Of course you don't", she said sweetly.

"I knew you'd be understandin'", he said with mock sincerity. "Now if ye don't mind, I'd like fer us to be into the longboat afore we waste anymore daylight."

-

A few hours after sunset would find the Captain and crew of the _Pearl _stretched out before a crackling fire on the beach; Will lay sleeping with his head in Elizabeth's lap, thoroughly exhausted, but content. Elizabeth sat next to Barbossa, idly running her fingers through her son's dark tresses while she watched the fire blaze and snap. She couldn't help thinking how they all must have looked very much like something out of a storybook, circled about like that, some of them with rum in hand, and the Captain sitting bare-footed and without his coat or hat, shirt hanging loosely open to reveal a melee of scars and pocks.

"I take it your lesson went well", she commented to him.

He nodded. "Aye. Boy's good with his hands."

"Doesn't surprise me", she said with a smile. "Will's always been good with his hands, I wouldn't expect his son to be any different." It was in that unfortunate moment that bits from her past decided to float into her thoughts.

'_Blacksmith's hands. I know they're rough.'_

She bit her lip, exhaling slowly and willing herself not to give in to the tears again and choosing instead to edge closer to the man who sat beside her. He said nothing and did not look her in the eye, but put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her snugly against him just the same. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the heart beating within and growing reminiscent of the fact that it had once been stopped dead, oddly comforted by the though that it was silent no more. Thinking back, she realized that she had never considered Barbossa to be a particularly awful person, even during that time when he had seemed so very inhuman, and though she had never said so to anyone but herself, it was with a heavy heart that she had seen him fall at Isle De Muerta.

But then, her allies were altogether strange to begin with, and she felt no need to question or try and make sense out of her odd and unlikely friendship with Barbossa; she was certainly glad for his company these past five years, despite the way that they more often than not ended up at odds with one another.

Tonight, however, was not one of those times; he had the uncanny ability to sense when she would benefit from his undying wit, or when more genuine words were needed. He slowly turned his gaze upon her with slightly furrowed brows, and she found a half-finished bottle of port being pressed into her hand.

"I can't drink him away forever, you know." She put the bottle to her lips and drank from it nonetheless.

"I wouldn't want ye to drink him away. But I can't imagine him wantin' you to be sorry for circumstances beyond yer control, either."

She shook her head. "Sometimes it's difficult not to be."

He absent-mindedly stroked a few loose bits of hair from her face, noting the shakiness in her voice and the way her breath was uneven as if she were struggling to keep it steady.

"Fancy a walk, Missy?"

-

There was something inexplicably calming about walking along the beach, letting the tide stretch out and pull the sand from beneath one's feet as it retreated. Neither of them had said a word since leaving the camp, but she turned to him now with a small smile.

"Captain, how long do you intend on calling me 'Missy'?"

He chuckled softly and offered her his arm; she promptly took hold of it. "I intend to be callin' ye that fer as long as ye keep slinkin' into my cabin every time you've had a nightmare or take to feelin' sorry for yourself. For as long as ye insist on snatchin' the hat off me head and runnin' across deck with it wearin' that cheeky grin o' yours, despite the fact that ye be a grown woman and know better."

Her smile widened. "Fair enough."

They walked along the shore for a few more paces when she stopped to look at the sea with it's unceasing motion and spoke once more.

"It's strange", she said thoughtfully. He shot her a quizzical glance.

"Things certainly turned out differently than I had always imagined, you see. I'd always expected I'd be keeping house, and Will would continue smithing, and the worst thing I'd need to worry about was him burning his hand or being kicked by a horse. And now . . ."

"Well now, 'different' doesn't always turn out to be a bad thing, ye know. And now you've nothin' to worry about. After all, he's the one blessed, or cursed, with immortality; he should be worryin' about you, an' not the other way round. Besides", he added with a smile, "you're halfway there."

"I suppose you're right", she said, smiling softly to herself.

"Of course I am."

She made as if to hit him on the shoulder, but ended up wrapping her arms snugly about him instead. "Don't let it go to your head."

His lips quirked into a sly grin as he turned around and slowly began the trek back to camp, holding her closely to his side. "I wouldn't dream of it."

**A/N: **I've gotten a good amount of feedback from people stating that they'd like this story to stay platonic, and I have to admit that I'd like to keep it that way as well. I imagine they both have a mutual attraction to one another, but wouldn't take it any further than a bit of good-natured teasing or flirting. Besides, I'm enjoying exploring this new side of Barbossa as well; he's rather adorable . . .


	4. Pasts

_**Pasts**_

_Two years later._

It had been a dreary past few days; winter was slowly creeping its way over the seas which they now sailed upon. While some of them could have easily done without the overcast skies, no one complained as it was a welcome change from the sweltering heat. It at least seemed to put a choice few in high spirits and gave them the tendency of having very pensive moods, three of them in particular. Barbossa sat in a large chair in his cabin; Elizabeth was cross-legged on his bed and Ragetti sat on the floor with his back to the bedpost, leafing through a volume of Shakespeare. For all the man's oddities and seeming lack of common sense, there was a good deal of intellect and insight being carried on his shoulders; Barbossa had thought it a terrible waste for him to not be able to read, and when Will had reached the age to be learning such things, the Captain had decided his crewman would do the same. Elizabeth had been more than willing to assist with the project, and he had turned out to be a most capable and delightful student. He lowered the book for a moment, speaking half to himself.

"Y' know for romance, it's not a very happy story."

"What story you be readin'?" inquired Barbossa, glancing down at him.

"Romeo an' Juliet."

"That's actually a tragedy", Elizabeth said in correction. Barbossa laughed just a bit.

"Romance, tragedy; they be no different." His younger companions turned to him in surprise; Ragetti looked at him thoughtfully.

"'Ave you ever been in love, Capt'in?" He was surprised by his own boldness; one did not ask Hector Barbossa such questions if they valued their well-being. However, it seemed to have done no harm, as the Captain merely looked at him with furrowed brows before answering him with a slow nod, much to Elizabeth's surprise.

"'Twas a long time ago, lad. Afore either of you even thought about bein' born."

Elizabeth stretched out on the bed, resting her head against the pillows, and was reminded of all those nights he had spent by her bedside when she had been, as they had cheekily come to call it 'great with child'. "Might we press you to tell us of it, Captain?" she inquired softly, unsure of why she was suddenly interested in the affairs of his past. There was a rather long silence before he spoke again.

"Her name was Clara." A reluctant and somewhat wistful smile had come to his face and he spoke the name softly and with fondness, however his tone was not without sorrow.

"She weren't but a fragile lookin' little thing with a heap o' dark hair and pale skin and teasin' blue eyes and a father that woulda liked nothin' better than to show me the business end of a pistol."

Elizabeth looked at him quizzically. "Because you were a pirate?"

"No, 'Lizabeth", he laughed. "Because I was _poor_. It don't set well with the high-toned and fancy to have their daughters pinin' after stable hands." He shot her a shrewd glance. "But nor does it suit love struck young people to be told what they can and can't do, and we'd run off together just the same, plannin' out how we were gonna run away someday an' be married and have lots o' children."

"I suppose it's safe to say that didn't happen", Elizabeth commented a bit sadly.

Barbossa shook his head, still wearing that soft, wistful smile. "Ye could say it was our own fault, or perhaps we were victims of life's circumstances, after all. It wasn't a particularly lively place we lived in, and not a terrible amount of ships came and went from the ports, so I was havin' a bit of a time findin' myself a trade that might take care o' things a bit better than workin' fer that fool father of hers. Didn't stop us from sneakin' off from time to time though, an one day we found ourselves alone, in the damn barn, one thing leads to another and . . . innocence lost, ye know." He seemed lost in memory for a while, smiling fondly to himself at the memory of forbidden affections of youth, before continuing with his tale.

"I left the very next week workin' as a deck hand for one Captain Burke on a ship called _King's Exile_, of all things. Came back three months later to find her waitin' for me on the docks and I knew somethin' was wrong. She kept babblin' on about how we had to leave before anyone found out and that her father kept askin' about me an' she's been so sick."

The smile left his face. "Never got a chance to run. Her father was a most unforgivin' man, and she's the one what paid the price for it."

Elizabeth paled. "How do you mean?"

"It would seem that he felt any woman what carried an issue o' mine oughta be wiped from the face of the earth, be she his own or not. She died by his own hands."

The room fell silent for sometime, his face unreadable, before he spoke again.

"And he died by mine." He gave a small nod in Ragetti's direction. "Read us a bit, if ye would."

Ragetti gave his Captain what one could call a respectful smile, before turning his attentions to the worn out book in his hands.

"But soft! what light from yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun . . ."

-

Despite how winter may have been aggravating with its relentless frigidity, one had to admit that the sky above them during clear, icy nights was worth all the hardship of cracked lips and frostbite and stiff fingers. It seemed that the stars were never so clear and bright as they were any other time of year, and it was on that night that Elizabeth spotted Barbossa leaned against the mast and gazing at them, the hints of a smile at the corners of his mouth. She sidled up to him, mirroring his pose.

"How odd. You're usually buried in superfluous comforts of blankets and brandy by this time on such nights." He glanced down at her disinterestedly.

"Meaning, I take it, yer cold and you were disappointed I wasn't there to keep ye warm." She blushed, and he found himself amused at her sudden inability to look him in the eye. She shook her head, but nestled against him shivering just the same.

"It doesn't detract from the fact that I'm right. What are you doing out here so late, anyways?"

"Navigatin'."

"I'm sure."

"Where's that whelp o' yours? He's big enough to be keepin' ye warm at night now."

"Below deck with Murtogg and Mullroy; he's trying to talk them into learning how to swim come warm weather", she laughed.

Barbossa shook his head, then glanced down at her with furrowed brows. "Where'd those two come from anyways?"

"Port Royale. Or the King's Navy, if you will. They served under Norrington for a time."

"Norrington", he repeated dryly.

She nodded with a sigh. "I know you don't think much of him and hold him responsible for much of what . . . went wrong, but he was a good man in the end." She looked up at him with a sly smile. "He possessed a remarkably merciful nature as well as a sense of fair play." He slipped an arm around her, shaking her playfully before returning his gaze to the stars above.

"Ye cry out for 'im in yer sleep sometimes, always askin' him to come with you." She shivered again; this time it was not brought on by the cold. He held her much as he had on that first night when she had come to him so lost and forlorn, stroking his fingers through her hair. "Ye know, Miss", he said after a while, "'Tis said that a star be given to all those who died at sea before their time."

It sounded like utter bollocks, but she found herself lifting her tear-streaked face upwards in spite of it. "Surely you of all people wouldn't believe that, Captain", she said softly, trying to manage a smile.

He laughed deeply, something she found delightfully comforting as her ear was pressed to his chest. "I never used to be a man of fables. Didn't believe it when I was told a tale of Aztec gold what would cause hell on earth. Honestly didn't believe much of what I heard of the first Brethren Court and what took place that day. You can imagine I'm a bit more inclined to be believin' such things now, as Gibbs might say."

She reached up to wrap her arms about his neck, giving him a knowing smile that he emulated; he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead and pulling her tightly against him. She was slightly taken aback by his sudden gentleness, but grateful for it just the same; it would seem that he may never stop failing to surprise her. She closed her eyes for a moment, simply enjoying the security that came from being embraced so before turning her attention back to the sky, where his eyes already rested.

Her heart quickened at the sight which met her own. Shining above them, brighter than all the rest, was a star.

**A/N: **Alright, I confess. I really just wanted to sneak in a plausible way to get Ragetti to read that bit of Shakespeare. I can just see it! Also to give Hector a bit of a back story that I'd probably never be able to flesh out into a whole story, as well as do something for Norrintgon. -sniffles- Norri . . .

Let me know if I've gotten _too _sappy.


	5. Meetings

_**Meetings**_

_Three years later._

"Why is it, Mrs. Turner, that I have no doubts you'd be jumpin' over the side o' the ship if there was no longboat?" Barbossa asked with a grin as Elizabeth was hastily attempting to get herself and Will into said longboat. She turned to him, smiling brightly.

"I think you know perfectly well why, Captain." He walked over to where Will stood, laughing, and suddenly snatched him up. "That I do. Ye be in a dreadful hurry to get ashore, so I suppose ye wouldn't mind if I just dropped him in and saved you the weight?"

"No, don't do that!" The boy wriggled and thrashed about in his arms, successfully knocking the hat from his head and frightening Jack the monkey out of his senses.

"Oh, but I _like_ throwing Turners overboard", he answered with a wicked grin. "Yer grandfather knows all about that."

"As does his mother", said Elizabeth with feigned indignance. Barbossa frowned at her in disapproval.

"I made ya walk the plank, never threw you overboard. And you weren't a Turner anyhow; naught but a spoiled brat is closer to the truth." She rolled her eyes at him.

"And it would undoubtedly take a spoiled brat to know one. Please put my son down; we're expected." If she had made any attempts at hiding her giddiness, they were poor.

No one could help but be happy for her, even if it had little to do with them, and there were only a small number of them that knew the _Dutchman_'s captain personally, but they had heard the stories and lived with her long enough to feel as if they did. Those who had known Will before he was doomed with his eternal duty, though they never spoke of it openly, took a great deal of comfort in the fact that, should they die at sea, which was likely, it would be William Turner meeting them on the other side of death and not his predecessor.

And yet it was with slight reluctance that Captain Barbossa looked down at the longboat as it shrank away from them and closer to the shore that one of its occupants had not walked upon for ten years.

-

His mood soon changed, however; as the sun was setting that evening, he watched the three of them from afar, and was filled with bittersweet pity for the man who obviously loved the woman and child fervently, and who would never be able to have them aboard his ship, driving him insane with their antics. He felt guilty now, that it was he who held Elizabeth in his arms at night when she cried; however innocent it may have been it was a privilege that should have belonged to Will Turner, not Hector Barbossa. It was he who had taught the boy how to load a cannon, and hold a sword, and navigate when clouds hid the stars. His own child had never gotten the chance to enter the world and learn such things from his father, but nonetheless, Barbossa was able to fathom, if only slightly, the way it must have felt to Captain Turner to have been absent from the boy's life for such things. Will would never see him the first time he beat his captain in a race climbing down from the rigging. He would never see him married or have children of his own, he would never be able to sit and count the stars with him, or warn him of the dangers of falling for silly young women who don't listen to their fathers.

Barbossa solemnly pondered the thought that he was the one who had all those years to himself, while Will had to settle for a painfully brief visit once every decade.

-

When the sun had nearly finished it's descent, the Captain made his reluctant intrusion upon the three of them; he hated to, and Elizabeth had even protested, but he had convinced her that it be best for her to be alone with Will for a bit after he'd taken the boy aside. At his approach, the elder Will Turner could only stare at him with a look somewhere between gratitude and disbelief.

His lips quirked into a brief smile before he spoke to Barbossa.

"You've looked after them, all this time?"

Barbossa made a poor attempt at a modest nod, but the self-satisfaction came across all too clearly. The _Dutchman_'s captain shook his head incredulously before looking up to meet the other man in the eyes.

"Thank you, Captain." He received a courteous nod in response.

Barbossa extended a hand in young Will's direction. "Ready, boy?" He nodded as the Captain placed a hand about his shoulders before bidding the couple farewell.

"Goodnight Mrs. Turner, Captain Turner."

-

The boy watched with furrowed brows, glancing behind him every now and again as the Captain led him away down the beach. His mother was in the embrace of strong arms belonging to this otherworldly captain who shared his name; their foreheads were pressed together. He looked up at Barbossa.

"They look sad. I thought they were going to be happy to see each other after being apart for so long."

Jack the monkey clamored from his master's shoulders and onto the boy's. Barbossa smiled to himself as they continued to stride along the shoreline.

"'Tis somethin' ye may understand when you're a bit older. They're happy enough, but one day only lasts so long, ye know. And you've a peculiar and most unique set of parents, Master Turner."

They walked along for some time more in silence, and Barbossa could not help but wonder what sort of an opinion the boy was forming on the father he had only met for the first time. After walking a while, they were able to make out the dim figure of a man sitting on the beach some way ahead; Barbossa kept his hand ready to draw weapon if need be, though it was more than likely just one of Will's crew. As they drew nearer, the Captain slowed his pace; he recognized the man at once. He stopped a few yards away, his expression altogether puzzling, before he spoke at last.

"Bill Turner."

The man started from his thoughts, and the two of them simply regarded one another tentatively for a long, quiet time. Will glanced back and forth between the two of them, feeling just the slightest bit uneasy; the history of Captain Barbossa and Bill Turner had been told to him at a tender age and he had always accepted it, but there was something understandably awkward about being in the middle of them both just now.

"Hector."

"It's been a while."

Bill nodded, turning his glance to them. "Strange how a curse will cause a man to do things outside his personality. Cause him to turn on those he cares for. To purposely take the life of one striving to do right."

Barbossa only nodded solemnly; it seemed as if Bill were speaking more to himself than anyone around him. He seemed now though to come out of his somber thoughts, thankful that the face of his grandson had pushed images of the dying Admiral's face from his mind. Mixed amid thoughts of how much the boy resembled a Turner in nearly every respect, was the realization that it was doubtless he would always look first to Barbossa for guidance before any man bearing the name Turner. It was evident in that he observed him while trying to subtly edge closer to the captain. Rather than grow annoyed by the fact that his kin placed more trust in the man who attempted to kill him once upon a time, he saw it only as the universe's way of course-correcting actions; things certainly had a way of coming back to bite.

Always one to have a keen eye for people's thoughts, Barbossa could see Bill turning these things over in his head, and could not help but allow himself a gloating smile. He was courteous about letting his smugness be short-lived, however, and silently, he and Will seated themselves in the sand a short distance from Bill, an awkward silence was growing thick between them when the youngest of the three finally spoke up, with surprising boldness and a most absurd question.

"Captain, did you really drop him in the drink?" He grew a bit nervous at the way the two of them stared at him for a moment with furrowed brows that quickly dissipated into blank, stoic stares. It was Bootstrap who broke the silence this time.

"Yes."

Barbossa had possessed every intention of berating the man for answering a question directed at him, but somehow he found his stinging remarks emerging instead in the form of laughter. He and Bill had both been around the _Dutchman_'s captain long enough to know that this was most definitely Will's child. The boy glanced nervously between the two men again, but quickly joined them in their profound mirth.

-

The following evening, Barbossa had not lingered around for the prolonged goodbyes, choosing instead to row back to the _Pearl _with the few crewman who had come ashore with him, and leaving Elizabeth and the boy to their Captain Turner. They were both quiet upon their return to the _Pearl_, and Elizabeth was quick about shutting herself up in the cabin without so much as a word of goodnight. He chose to let the matter alone, but thought that he heard the faint sounds of sniveling through the walls. He could never decide if it had come from her or Will. As night fell upon them, he found himself unable to sleep, and so decided to sit awake with his thoughts for a bit, as he did quite often.

"Forgive me if I seem redundant, but I must ask you again; they've been with you all these years, and you ask nothing in return for their safekeeping?"

While Barbossa had not expected to turn about and find one William Turner sitting at his table, it did not quite startle him, either. He calmly took a seat across from the other captain, eyeing him lazily and pouring them both some wine. Will accepted it, and continued to stare back at his companion, looking as if he were trying with difficulty not to smile.

"I'll forgive yer redundance, Captain, but I'll not be answerin' a silly question; yeh already know the answer."

"But why? Of all people, you would be the last person I'd ever imagine to take on such a task, I would have thought you'd find it distracting and a nuisance."

"'Nuisance' is up to personal opinion, Captain Turner, but I'll admit they're an awful distraction." He lowered his voice, speaking fondly. " That being a good part of the reason I keep 'em around at all."

Will still shook his head in slight disbelief, but now smiled warmly. "I can't help but feel indebted to you. Is there anything . . .?"

Barbossa glanced up at him, their eyes locking for a few brief moments, and though neither of them said anything, Will had received his answer. He knew he looked into the eyes of a man that had died too many times. Slowly he nodded, and drained his glass as he rose from his seat.

"At a time hence, then?"

Barbossa nodded, his eyes falling to the table. When he looked up, Will was gone.

**A/N: **That was weird, yeah? O.o

Oh yeah, and I guess it's pretty evident now that I believe the _Dutchman _curse is permanent, eh? Thanks for all your lovely reviews, and apologies for not getting this up sooner! I had a bit of a time with the meeting between Hector and Bill, but it worked itself out.


	6. Letters

_**Letters**_

The following morning, Elizabeth found a letter in her cabin, and could not help the bittersweet tears that came to her eyes as she read it, written in Will's graceful script.

_My dearest Elizabeth, _

_I would have liked to tell you this myself, but alas, our brief time together drew to a close far sooner than I had anticipated. However, I do want to deliver you this message. _

_Your father and mother send their love, as does Mister Norrington. They'll be most pleased to hear you are doing so splendidly, and I am sure I'll spend a good deal of time speaking to them of Will. _

_Words cannot describe the happiness that welled in me at the sight of him! He possesses much of your spirit, does he not? I do trust that you and the Captain will be quick about teaching him swordplay. _

She laughed through her tears. Leave it to Will to spend ten years fretting over whether or not his son was learning the finer points of swordsmanship. She shook her head, still smiling, as she finished the letter.

_I could spend forever and a day speaking to you, even if only by writing, but you know that. However, my time draws short, as a shepherd's job is never done, so long as there are sheep wandering about for him to take in, so I must bring this letter to a close. I leave you with my prayers, my deepest admiration, and all of my love._

_Keep a weather eye on the horizon. _

_Yours truly and forever, _

_Captain William Turner II of the Flying Dutchman._

_P.S. I love you. _

She gave a wistful, but happy sigh as she folded the letter and clutched it tightly to her chest before reopening it and reading it again. Her morning was spent doing such, though it went unnoticed by Barbossa. He had found a note lying on his desk as well, and had also spent much of the morning pondering over it. He might have been surprised to find out that Will had spent nearly as much care on his letter as he had with Elizabeth's, but it seemed to matter little, as he was taken aback, though pleased with its contents.

_From one Traitorous Mutineer to another, _

_I am still unable to express with words how grateful I am for what you've done these past ten years, but I'll not linger on that subject, since we have already come to an agreement. I am actually writing to relay a message for you, requested of me by a most charming and lovely young woman that met me on the shore at the Other Side. I listened for a good while as she told me of her mortal life, and a seemingly forbidden romance with one of her father's stable boys. She told me his name and asked if I had seen him, for he had left home for life as a merchant sailor, and she has worried about him since finding herself having passed into the next life. _

_She was most pleased to discover that he had made a name for himself. I was vague on the details of exactly how and why, though I did mention that he had done me a great favor by officiating my marriage. She laughed at this, but was eager to hear all that I could tell of her Hector, as she called you. I think that she would have tried to convince me to sit with her and speak of it for eternity, had it not been for her desire to have me find you again and send her love and regards. _

_I think after meeting your Clara, you and I perhaps understand one another a bit better now, and I am almost sorry for my lack of effort in getting to know you better when I had the chance; I think we may have gotten along quite well after all. _

_I'm certain you won't mind me taking the liberty of returning her sentiments? There were times when I honestly doubted that the man she spoke of was one in the same with you, but after learning exactly what it is you've been up to all this time, my doubts have abandoned me. _

_I must now draw this to a close; I have learned that immortality does not rid one of the need to sleep, for which I am thankful at times. I wish you the best of fortune and again, you have my deepest thanks for the care of Elizabeth and William. I expect to see you again, when the time is right. I'll be looking out for your sign. _

_Gratefully , _

_Captain William Turner II of the Flying Dutchman_

_P.S. The boy sends his regards and love as well. _

Barbossa was stricken with disbelief over what he had just read, and was unsure whether he should be ecstatic over the fact that he had inadvertently managed to have some semblance of contact with Clara after so many decades past, jealous of Will for having been able to speak with her face to face, or furious with him for simply saying 'the boy', and not giving any inclination as to what she had called the child. He supposed it must have been Captain Turner's subtle way of taking revenge on him for the time he had attempted to slit his throat. He had to admit to himself that, had the tables been turned, he probably would have taken out a far more deadly vengeance.

-

Late that evening, Barbossa once again found himself with company at his table, save this time it was Elizabeth instead of Will. She had been sitting quietly, starting at nothing in particular and absent-mindedly swirling the contents of her goblet round and round in it. After a while she looked up and smiled softly at the Captain, raising her glass.

"To another ten years", she said. She felt his goblet chink against hers, but he did not nod nor give the slightest inclination of agreement. Her smile faded just a bit, but she tried to keep the tone light.

"I understand you met with Will's father."

Barbossa blanched for a moment at looked like one accused.

"Bootstrap, I mean. Are you alright?"

He gave a silent sight of relief, irritated with himself for being so unnaturally jittery. For a moment he thought she had somehow learned of his privy conversation with her husband the night before and did not wish to discuss it; he had gotten the distinct impression, though Will had never said so, that their meeting was to remain between the two of them. Neither had wanted to think about how Elizabeth might have reacted had she known Will was transporting himself all about the _Pearl _without her knowledge.

"Ah", he said quickly, regaining his senses. "Aye, we had a laugh."

She quirked her eyebrow at him suspiciously. "A laugh. You're sure you didn't try to sit on him in the shallows and drown him again?"

He glared at her sternly. "After all this time, yeh ought to know me better than that. There's no reason fer me to be miffed with Bill Turner now. What's done is done. 'Sides, I reckon he's been punished enough already."

It was some time before either of them spoke again. Barbossa rose from his chair, stretching. "Best be gettin' to bed now, Miss. Been an exhaustin' few days for everyone, you and I not least of all." She pretended to be staring at the many trinkets he had lying about the cabin. He rolled his eyes and shrugged, wasting no time in removing his coat and boots and taking his own advice.

"Goodnight, Elizabeth", he said pointedly as he unceremoniously dropped into bed and closed his eyes.

She turned about, realizing what he had done and put her hands on her hips. "So am I to understand that I have two children now? You've failed to put out any of your candles." The only response she received was a loud, pronounced, and obviously staged snoring coming from his direction. It was she who rolled her eyes this time, and set about snuffing the candles herself. He smiled to himself, not at all surprised when, in the darkness, he felt her curling up beside him.

'_Both bless and curse her for her it'_, he thought to himself. Never had he protested on the many occasions when she had done exactly this, however he could not help but long for something more as well. He knew she would always belong to Captain William Turner, despite the fact that it he was the one who kept her warm and safe for so many nights. Had she chosen someone else, _anyone _else but the captain of that damned phantom ship, he would have been the first one to try and steal her away, however there were some things that even he was not bold enough to attempt, and stealing away the wife of a minor deity was one of them. William Turner of Port Royale was someone he would have gladly trifled with; not so with William Turner of the _Flying Dutchman_.

Nonetheless, he would still pull her close tonight, enjoying what little intimacy that Fate would allow him while he still had the chance. He looked down to see her deep in thought as he cradled her in one arm, and though she may have been elected King, married, a mother, and in her thirtieth year, he still could not help but see the silly young girl that taunted him with Aztec gold eleven years before. One that he had managed to frighten witless, if only for a short while. A reminiscent little smirk formed on his face and he began to laugh softly.

"What is it?" she asked, growing amused.

"Look." He held his hand out for her to see, and she smiled fondly. As the _Pearl _slid quietly through calm waters, moonlight streamed through the windows of the cabin, dancing over his hand. She placed her own hand into it and curled her other arm around his neck, still looking at his long, elegant fingers in the dappled light. He held her hand close to his chest, still smiling.

"Captain", she said with a yawn, "I've been informed that we're to be quick about teaching Will the sword."

He smiled, looking down at her as she was overtaken with sleep.

"As you wish, William Turner."

'_And I'll be just as quick about teaching him to cheat.'_

**A/N: **This one came as a bit of a surprise. In the last chapter, I had really, really meant to include something about Will telling them about the Swanns, etc, sending their love and regards, but it completely slipped my mind. I want to say this one has about two or three more parts left, but new little bits like this keep coming to me. So we'll just enjoy this ride for as long as it lasts.


	7. Promise

_**Promise**_

_Seven years later._

The crew watched with unabashed interest as the Captain and the boy circled round each other on deck, eyes locked and swords drawn. They both wore smiles of utmost self-confidence. Elizabeth stood watching from a few paces back with fond amusement; Barbossa's hat sat perched askew on her head, the jaunty feathers riffled by a gentle breeze.

"Don't be gettin' too cocky, Turner," said Barbossa somewhat lazily. "I helped bring ye into this world and I can send you right on yer way back out."

"A bold threat for an old man, Captain," the boy countered with a good amount of cheek, and Barbossa's smile went a bit lopsided. The brashness of his mother and his father's undying boldness with no thought for consequence, the lad certainly was a piece of work. Barbossa figured that with a bit more of his own personal influence for good measure, Will would turn out to be a halfway decent man, after all. Just not yet; that remark about being an 'old man' would certainly have to be dealt with, and in great haste.

A playful laugh had scarcely left Will's lips before he was skillfully disarmed, his sword hitting the deck with a clatter, and found himself shoved against the mast with the flat side of the Captain's own weapon pressed firmly, though not threateningly, to his throat. He swallowed hard, letting his hands drop to his sides and smiling in defeat. Barbossa lowered his sword, smirking.

"Not yet, boy."

As Barbossa sheathed his sword and walked away with a smug smile, Will had to laugh a little. He admired the grizzled captain a great deal, though he never said so anymore. However, now, his thoughts suddenly reverted back to the dream that he kept having, and he wondered if he should tell anyone about it, deducing that his mother would probably worry about it too much and the captain would simply tell him to quit being silly. And it kept repeating itself in his head, over and over again, and haunted his sleep, particularly on nights when the moon was at its full.

He had seen a vast grassy plain, and standing in the middle of it was a shaggy ram, with sharp eyes and great grey horns curling from its wooly head. It looked as if it were long overdue a shearing, matted fibers hanging off of it in large, elegant and unruly clumps, and yet it had a majestic quality despite being so unkempt. It turned to look at him, and the eyes seemed to twinkle for just a moment before it turned its attention to the hill ahead, over which appeared a large and rather magnificent chestnut stallion. The two beasts locked eyes for a moment, the horse tossing his head and the ram looking just a bit uncertain as it stood there, fascinated. The horse rested one foot and swished his long tail as he regarded the ram, who stared at back at it now as if with cool regard. After a while of this, the ram would lift its head and appear to take a deep and resolute breath before holding its head up high and approaching the stallion. The last thing Will could remember was the two of them descending the other side of the hill together as the sun set, dazzling gold into the horizon, and he always awoke with tears in his eyes, though he did not know why. He always hastily rubbed them away in the fear that one of the crew would see him blubbering in his hammock at his age. He was nearly a grown man, no matter how much Barbossa liked to tease and berate him and call him 'whelp'.

'_He would think it's silly'_, he said to himself. _'And so will I.'_

Along with this thought, he also deduced that despite what he had been told all his life, it was impossible to lie to one's self. It had to be.

He followed the captain to where he stood at the railing, standing stoically as he looked through his spyglass at what seemed to be miles of nothing stretching out for vast miles before them. Barbossa did not appear to be feeling talkative, so Will took to slumping down on the rail with his chin resting on his crossed arms, when he was proven wrong.

"You've yer father's gift with the blade, but self-confidence is gonna be yer downfall if ye don't nip it soon."

"It doesn't seem to have caused you any great harm yet."

Barbossa lowered his spyglass and glanced sidelong at the boy, looking slightly annoyed. He reached up to pull the shirt away from his chest, revealing a large and ugly silver pock that rested over his heart. "'Twasn't meekness that earned me that one, boy, and as I told the idiot what gave it to me, 'twere long odds what brought me back, and him as well." He gazed back out to sea, eyes narrowed against the bright afternoon sun. "I imagine Jones was feelin' pretty jaunty when your ol' dad stopped his heart, though he was flirtin' with death himself. Boastin' before you've won yer battle'll be a downfall", he said, turning a serious face to his young apprentice. "Your parents have suffered enough at the hands of their own rashness and foolery; I'd hate to see you end up in the same boat."

Will gave a slight smile as he allowed his mind to digest the precaution. Though he had known little else but piracy growing up, he still had to laugh a bit at the irony of taking the wise advice of someone who had once had a price of ten thousand guineas on his head. And yet, perhaps it was wise to follow after all, seeing as nearly eighteen years had now gone by and Barbossa still _had _his head to show for it. However, just now, he would try not to let on that he would actually consider listening to his seeds of wisdom, opting instead to fling cheek at him, a habit that Barbossa felt was slightly more endearing coming from Elizabeth, but took it as a sign of admiration anyways.

"So, Captain, when are you finally going to surrender me the _Black Pearl_?" he asked, the smirk on his face reminding Barbossa annoyingly of the second Will Turner when it was learned that he had mutinied against him and Jack both at the same time. He rolled his eyes.

"When I decide I don't want 'er anymore, and when ye can best me at the sword."

"Which I'm to understand means never?" Elizabeth had approached them now; she removed the battered feathery hat from her head and returned it to its owner, making sure to place it atop his head in the oddly dashing lopsided manner that signified him. He turned to stare at her with feigned injury.

"You impugning I'm not a man o' me word, Missy?"

"Absolutely not", she said with wide-eyed awe, before breaking into a wide grin. He smirked, reaching out to tug on the single section of her hair that had decided to go gray over the last few years. He called it her 'witch's streak', and she called it 'the result of living with you for nearly two decades.' "I just happen to think sometimes", she went on, "that I know you better than you know yourself."

"Oh _really_?"

She nodded with the utmost confidence.

"Then ye know what it is I'm about to do right now, eh?"

"Yep." She nodded even more furiously before dashing off in a desperate run across the deck, with him in hot pursuit.

Will sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know whether they're more like two children who refuse to grow up, or an old married couple", he stated numbly.

Murtogg had been observing the exchange. "I think perhaps they're a bit of both", he said with a smirk, before returning to whatever task he'd been distracted from. Will sighed loudly, and tried for just a moment to imagine them behaving like a grown man and woman instead of their petty bickering and teasing of one another.

Unsurprisingly, try as he may have, he could not get his mind wrapped around the concept.

-

Elizabeth stared at Barbossa over her wine that evening, unsure whether or not to be amused by the slight oddness of his mood. He gazed out at the horizon with a smile on his face before tilting back the rather large bottle of port.

"Sunrise sets. Flash of green. Over the edge, over again", he drawled with apparant relish, chuckling just a bit. She did not know if he was speaking to her or the horizon itself. The sun was just setting, and everything was bathed in brilliant orange and pink. Eyes squinted against the sun, Barbossa continued to gaze at it fondly, raising his wine as if in tribute before drinking again.

"Are you quite alright, Captain?" In all her years spent in his company, she had never known him to succumb to drunkenness, and was growing rather startled at his sudden reminiscent mood.

He turned to her with one eyebrow raised, almost disinterestedly. "Never been better, Miss." His tone was light, but the wide smile on his face had turned to one of peace.

"Although, I might be bendin' on that promise I made . . ."

"I knew it," she answered with a roll of the eyes as she moved to sit closer to him; for as nimble and lithe as he was, she found that his shoulders made an excellent place to rest one's head. He placed one arm snugly about her, affectionately stroking her arm with his thumb.

"Bendin' it the _other_ way, Mrs. Turner," he answered gently. "Otherwise, as ye said, he'll never get 'er at all."

"Don't be silly; we both know the only way you'd ever part with this confounded ship again is over your own carcass." She tried to keep her voice light and careless, but she was growing more and more unnerved by her captain's strangely sentimental behavior. Parting him from the ship he had seen necessary to steal twice was no laughing matter. And he so rarely called her 'Mrs. Turner' anymore . . .

The only response she got to her statement was more soft laughter as he pulled her close, resting his cheek on her head. And for whatever reason, she felt the need to cling to him as never before.

**A/N: **I think the next chapter will be the final one, although I'm almost certain that this will spin off into another, much larger story involving the history of one Hector Barbossa and how he became what he is now.

I wonder if I've been too obvious about where I'm taking this. I guess only time will tell. Oh yes, and to the avid shippers of the Betrayer and the Mutineer, the next chapter will contain a bit of Barbossabeth-ness. To non-shippers, yes, this is still a platonic story. Oh well, you'll see. -smiles-


	8. Parting Tokens

_**Parting Tokens**_

It would seem that the years which passed since the day when Calypso was freed, the _Dutchman _received a new captain, and the _Endeavor _was obliterated had done little to age Hector Barbossa. In appearance, he looked the same as ever he did, though those who knew him would say that he looked a good deal healthier than he had when he had been under the curse. However, as the weeks wore on since his odd toast to the horizon and quoting of Sao Feng's map, the crew noticed that the Captain seemed to be growing, for lack of a better word, tired. Or perhaps bored, though the idea of him growing weary of his life aboard the _Pearl _seemed beyond absurd. Yet he did not allow it to deter him from the pleasure he took in daily routine, so no one really chose to worry over it.

He had continued his afternoon duels with Will, doubling his efforts to shape the boy into a proper swordsman and, in his own words 'something worthy of the name Turner'. His statement regarding the surname had raised more than a few eyebrows. Will had no time to dish cheek at Barbossa now; the man was fervent in his instruction and often lost his temper during their fencing among other things. He found himself thrust into so many tasks aboard the ship that he had little time for sleep, which was often disturbed in the early hours by the captain leaning over him in his hammock, sometimes grabbing hold of the edge of it and dumping him onto the floor. On a morning when he had had a particularly unpleasant landing, he sat up on the floorboards, rubbing his aching head, and looked up, exhausted, at the man who's sanity he was now beginning to question.

"Up an' at it, boy, daylight be burnin' up." Barbossa wore a jovial grin and acted as if this were a perfectly acceptable way of waking people.

"How can daylight be burning? The sun's not even begun to rise!" He had mean to finally ask Barbossa what he had meant by all his feverish lessons these past few weeks, but he had already mounted the stairs leading above deck. He heard someone stir in their sleep and groan a few feet away.

"Blimey, lad, what'd you do to get 'im all roused at ya like that?" came the groggy voice of Pintel.

"I didn't do anything! If I didn't respect him, I'd say he's started to go mad."

"But ye did, Will." Ragetti, apparently, had been awake for some time and had observed the entire exchange. Will stared at him in the dark, completely dumbfounded.

"Asked him when he was gonna give you the _Pearl_, you did. Per'aps he reckons he'd better make sure you can handle 'er."

Will paled. "But . . . I didn't mean that, not really. I'd have to be raving to think he would actually do that."

"Well, either he's tryin' to see if you're worthy of havin' 'er, or you both really are mad, then."

Will groaned, still rubbing the spot on his head where it had hit the floor when the captain had given his lovely wake-up call, and wished more than anything that he could just climb back into his hammock and sleep, but then remembered that the moon was at its full and he was likely to see nothing more than the ram and the stallion again, and decided that he preferred the waking world instead, even if it did contain a screaming, bellowing pirate captain telling him what a sorry sailor he was.

-

When the heat of the afternoon sun had become simply too much to bear, even after discarding all but breeches and boots, Barbossa had finally stopped forcing Will to climb up and down the rigging and told him to relieve Cotton at the helm. He did so gratefully, glad for the steady breeze that whipped about the bits of hair not secured beneath the scarf on his head. He was relieved when he saw his mother approaching, a bottle in hand; he felt he had possibly never been so thirsty in his life. She uncorked it and handed it to him, an impish smile playing onto her face.

"What's funny?" he asked breathlessly as he took a long swig from the bottle.

"He put me through something rather similar on our voyage to rescue Jack. Said that I had too much spirit for my own good." She noted the look of utter exasperation on his face. "Don't worry," she said, patting him on the back. "You'll live."

"Do I want to?"

But she did not answer him. He followed her gaze to where it rested, several yards away; Barbossa sat upon one of the crates fastened to the deck, holding a piece of parchment, with Cotton sitting beside him, a quill in hand. They seemed to be in deep converse, despite the fact that only one of them could speak. Elizabeth knew she should not have been concerned, but for some reason, she found the way they exchanged quiet smiles and nodded at one another to be rather unsettling. Will seemed to channel her thoughts, if only a little.

"I thought he didn't like conversing with him alone, that he was above speaking to the 'damned infernal bird', as he calls it?"

"They're not using the bird," she replied lamely.

She and Will hastily averted their attention as the two men rose from their seats, shaking hands and both looking pleased is if they shared some secret.

Though she knew better, Elizabeth blurted out her question as Barbossa approached, seeming smugly satisfied with himself.

"What was that all about?"

"Gentlemen's business, Miss. You needn't worry yer pretty head over it." He glanced at Will, nearly beaming. "Master Turner, step aside if ye don't mind." Bemused, Will made way for the Captain, letting him take over the helm, his bemusement turning once again to fond admiration when he noted the way Barbossa relished the task, leaning back so wind and sea spray dotted his face and neck, how he seemed to almost caress the wheel at times as if it were a woman that he loved dearly. Will shook his head as he walked away; the Captain was an enigma, no doubt, but he wouldn't wish it to be any other way.

Elizabeth smiled at Barbossa, wondering that he never grew weary of guiding his beloved _Pearl_ as she joined him at his side. "You're an impossible man, Captain."

"Aye, I am. I'd say the same about you except ye are, in fact, as Jack says, a woman."

"Perhaps, though sometimes I don't feel like one, for obvious reasons. A most horrid and appalling life I've led, for a lady."

He laughed appreciatively. "Aye, but ye be a fine little woman, nonetheless, at least by Turner's way o' thinkin'. And by mine," he added with a smile that made her stomach flutter. "And that be all that matters."

She might have once thought to playfully argue the point about his opinion being of worth, seeing as how she was hardly attached to him, but had to correct herself. She may have never sworn herself to him as she had done with Will, and as best she could remember, had never even been officially signed onto the crew. Yet, as she pondered this now, she could not imagine her life being anything other than what it had turned out, save for the idyllic married life that had been wrenched away from her as soon as she had finally gotten it within her grasp. She noticed that Barbossa had been studying her calmly, intently, as she had mulled over the subject. She looked up to face him, biting her lip ever so slightly, before speaking again.

"I suppose you're right," she replied, barely whispering, as she stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek before walking away.

As much as he appreciated her company, he was glad now for solitude as he watched her descend from the helm and disappear. He wrapped his fingers about the spokes of the wheel lovingly again, glad that no one was around to see how tight his grasp on them was, his knuckles going a bit white.

"Just me and you for now, darlin'." And as the ship groaned beneath his feet, almost as if in affectionate response, he smiled.

-

Moods that evening were uneasy and tense, and while Elizabeth merely sank into a corner, deep in thought over what she had just learned, Will shadowed the Captain all about deck, all but getting underfoot. After half an hour of this, Barbossa whirled round to face him, somewhere between annoyance and frustration, and found himself looking into a pair of large brown eyes whose brows were furrowed.

"Yes, Master Turner?" he asked with a heavy sigh and an impertinent roll of the eyes. He was merely met with a curious, searching, and disturbingly knowing stare.

"You're up to something. You and Cotton; I saw you talking with him earlier." His tones were accusatory to say the very least.

"It's a bit hard to talk to a man who can't even speak, but regardless, don't ye think that if we were _really _up to something, we wouldn'a been stupid enough to speak of it in plain sight? Hm?"

"But . . . but that's not the point, and you didn't answer my question."

"Ye didn't ask a question."

"You know what I mean!"

Barbossa smiled, slinging an arm around Will's shoulders. "Well then, if ye know that I know what you mean, then I daresay you've likely already figured me out."

A noise escaped Will that was somewhere between a snort and a laugh; he stared incredulously at his captain. For a good long while, he was tormented as the elder man merely grinned at him in haughty satisfaction, when he felt he could no longer tolerate it and wriggled free of Barbossa's loose embrace, staring back at him in frustration and slight disgust. Barbossa frowned, more at himself than with the boy, small waves of guilt beginning to prick within him. He heaved a sigh.

"Cotton's leavin'. Tomorrow."

Will glanced up at him, somewhat hopefully, before laughing just a bit. "I suppose he's going to hang onto the parrot and fly away, then? Come off it, we're hundreds of leagues away from land, unless you plan to throw him overboard."

Barbossa cast him a disapproving glare. "Now I told you before, boy; you've got a good head on those great skinny shoulders o' yours. Do us both a favor and use it." As he spoke, his eyes fell to the hilt of Will's cutlass; it had been fashioned with the ornamentation of lions' heads, highly similar to the symbols seen on the hull of the _Dutchman _as well as the hilt of a sword of someone who sailed upon it. Will paled slightly as realization dawned on him.

"My father?"

"Aye." Barbossa said nothing more, but only smiled. He felt at last that perhaps the uncomfortable confrontation had come to an end. He was wrong. Instead of leaving well enough alone, he noticed that Will had grown somewhat angry.

"But why, Captain? Why not just finish out life like a normal man instead of calling upon some . . . some _phantom_ to whisk you away to only God knows where?"

Will was more than slightly taken aback as he was roughly snatched by his shoulders, his face mere inches from Barbossa's, who's expression was one now twisted with annoyance and slight rage.

"Why should a man what's _not lived _a normal life expect any different when he wishes to leave it, Turner? Eh? And yer father be no phantom; speak ill of 'im again and I'll have yeh whipped!"

Will simply stood with his mouth agape, staring dumbly. He had known Barbossa to make some rather dreadful and vulgar threats, but they were never realized, and he had never threatened to whip him before. For a moment he felt afraid that perhaps the captain really did mean it this time, but instead found himself met with a disgusted sneer as the man shoved him back roughly before walking away, cursing under his breath, taking no notice that Will had caught his foot as he'd stumbled and fallen backwards. However, the moisture threatening to prick at Will's eyes had nothing to do with the dull ache in his backside.

"William, what on _earth_ . . ."

He could not bring himself to explain to his mother what had just happened, for he was unsure if it himself, but following his gaze seemed to answer her inquiry well enough, and she remained silent as she took him by the hand and pulled him back to his feet.

"He's never spoken to me like that before. I – I've never known him to be in such a temper, even for him," he said, barely above a whisper, still unbelieving of what had just transpired.

Elizabeth could find no words; as she observed Barbossa now skulking about on deck, barking unnecessarily stern orders to any crewman within twenty feet, she could not help but be reminded of the time he had struck her at Isle De Muerta, and wondered what had set his mood afoul in such a way. Her son turned to her now, indignance spread over his face.

Though he tried to form words, he only found himself growing increasingly annoyed by the fact that Elizabeth simply looked bemused as she glanced between him and the now-retreating back of Captain Barbossa. After a few moments of getting no response from her, Will stomped below deck, muttering something about feeding chickens. Elizabeth was about to chase after the captain, but decided it would be better to wait until his temper had subsided, at least a little.

She later found him sitting in the spot on deck where they had passed so many hours, whether it had been just the two of them, sometimes joined by Will, or the entire crew listening to tales of voyages past. She quietly lowered herself to sit beside him, placing a hand tentatively on his knee. He glanced disinterestedly at her for a moment, but did not speak.

"Captain," she began gently, "I realize this ship has always been under your authority while you happened to be upon it, but I must ask why you've taken to throwing about my only son like common tackle."

"Lost my temper," he answered, reluctantly looking down to meet her eyes. "Apologies."

"I don't think I'm the one you should be apologizing to." She stood, smiling weakly at him and lightly rubbing his back. And he was alone once more.

-

Night had fallen on the _Black Pearl_, and its youngest crew member sat out on deck, his back leaned against the railing and a hand resting upon one raised knee. He heard the approaching sound of uneven footsteps clearly belonging to someone with a pronounced limp. He cast baleful eyes upon the person as they dropped down beside him.

"Sorry to disappoint you; as I'm already sitting, I'm unable to be thrown about very easily." Though the light of the half moon made seeing things a bit tricky, he had no difficulty noticing that his companion had just reached for the large, ornate pistol he always wore, and hoped that the weak light would hide the look of uncertainty on his face. For a fleeting, foolish moment, he half-feared that the captain would fire it at him; instead, he found it being pressed into his own hand.

"Take it."

His heart raced wildly, and he almost hoped that this was some strange dream come to replace the one with the ram, but the pistol was far too heavy and cold in his hands for this to be anything other than real.

"Captain I – I can't."

"Yeh can. Look, about . . . I shouldn'a done that."

Will felt more awkward than he ever had in his life; apologizing was clearly not something Barbossa was comfortable with, and he wished it would end soon for both their sakes.

"It's fine," he said weakly. "I'd be foolish to say I wasn't asking for what I got." He stared at the weapon in his hands, reverently turning it over and staring at it. "But regardless, I wish you wouldn't give me this."

"Why not? Ye've wanted it since you were able to stand on yer own two legs."

"But it's yours."

Barbossa smiled softly, staring at the deck. "If I find meself in need of another, I'm sure one'll be provided."

And Will knew. He shook his head, staring in disbelief at the man he had looked up to his entire life, the closest thing to a father he had. He made a valiant attempt at keeping his voice steady whilst blinking back tears he hoped could not be seen. "Begging your pardon, Captain, but I don't believe I've bested you at the sword just yet."

Barbossa smiled despite himself. "True. That be why I'm leavin' the ship in yer mother's hands, for the time bein'. Don't tell her."

Will only nodded dumbly in agreement.

The Captain smiled, a bit ruefully. "Goodnight, Turner."

The answer came barely above a whisper. "Goodnight, Captain."

Neither of them slept very well that night. Will's mind once again swam with visions of the horse and ram, their departure together playing itself over and over, only this time, he noticed, as they descended the hill, with the ram tromping confidently a few steps ahead, the horse would turn back and stare at Will with an almost reluctant and apologetic gaze before turning to join his horned companion and disappearing into the sunset.

–

"Captain, be honest with me, when are you going to demand that he give it back?"

Barbossa rolled his eyes, frustrated, but amused. Elizabeth had paced after him the entire morning the following day and into the late afternoon, demanding to know why he had given the Spanish flintlock to Will when she had no doubt in her mind that he would never part with it and would surely have a change from his sudden sentimentality and want it returned.

"I've told ye about puttin' me and lies in the same thought, 'Lizabeth. I won't be askin' for its return; it belongs to 'im now."

"Yes, but for how long?"

He turned about and leaned down just a bit, facing her with his eyes dangerously narrowed. "_Forever_. Or until he finds some belligerent, cocky young brat to pass it on to, as I've done. Let's just hope an' pray he don't lose it the same way that idiot Spaniard lost it to me. Then again – " he said as he straightened to his full height once more, smiling at Will, who stood in the distance, once more at the helm, "– I won't be here to kill 'im for his arrogance, and I daresay there's a good chance he'll survive any opponent what meets him."

It was Elizabeth's turn to roll her eyes now. "Captain, I've never doubted you'd spare his life despite the many threats you've made on it, but . . ." her words slowly faded, and she furrowed her brows suddenly, staring at him. "What do you mean, you 'won't be here'?"

He shot her a quick glance, but was unable to give an answer to her question; it erupted and surfaced beside them in the form of the _Flying Dutchman_, great rivulets of water running down its magnificent hull. After gaping at it for a few moments, Elizabeth whirled round to once more look into the now somber face of her captain, her expression growing paler by the moment.

"But Will . . . he said . . . he said that Cotton . . ." she stuttered. Barbossa nodded.

"Aye, Cotton be comin' as well."

He suddenly found her hands clenching his arms so tightly that it was almost painful; her brown eyes, wide and beginning to brim with tears, gazing up desperately at his own. He had known she would react this way, but it did not lessen the difficulty, by any means. Stubbornly, he gritted his teeth, snatching her by the elbow and quickly moving to where they would both be out of the sights of both their own crew and that of the _Dutchman_ and yanked her about to face him.

"Don't", she said before he'd had the chance to speak, shaking her head as the tears began to fall. "Please don't leave me, you're all I have, I– "

"_Don't _do this, Elizabeth!" he spat, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her. "And don't you dare say I'm all you've got when there be a whole damn crew who'd defend yer honor and follow yer command as soon as look at ye, who've helped raise that fatherless child o' yours for the last seventeen years! And what about him, what about your boy, 'Lizabeth?" He shook his head.

"I'm s – sorry!" she stammered, and he allowed her to bury her face in his chest as she had done so many times before, and she sobbed in earnest while in the embrace of his strong arms, his hands pressed tenderly against her shoulders.

"'_All you have_'", he whispered. "What would possess ye to say such a thing, girl?"

"Mmphvoo", she mumbled into his coat.

"None o' that childish nonsense, now. You be a grown woman." He took her face in his hands and forced her chin upwards. "Look at me when yer speakin'." She took him by the wrists, the tormented expression on her face silently pleading with the gently demanding one on his. They only stared such for a few short moments, though to them, it felt like eternity before she finally spoke through tears and gritted teeth.

"I love you."

Being honest with himself, he had expected her to say exactly that, but still wished desperately that she had not. When he spoke, his voice was low and soft. "Perhaps ye shouldn't be throwin' your love away so carelessly."

"You don't mean that! When I was stupid enough to think pirates would follow a code of conduct, it was you who protected me though you also proved me wrong. When I let my head get to big for my own good in Singapore, it was always you who got in the way of things, you who kept me from signing my own death warrant. Several times, surely! When I was about to be sold in that auction, it was you who filled those men with blades and bullets."

"Don't mistake gratitude fer love, Miss", was his weak reply, but he knew that it was not the many times her life had been spared by his presence that she truly spoke of, but of the nights when she missed her father the most, when the knowledge that she may as well have been widowed weighed on her all too heavily on her heart, when she had sat in his lap, her belly bloated with child, and cried herself to sleep. When she would wake in the middle of the night and see him sleeping slumped in a chair beside her bed, or the many, many times she had spied him pacing the cabin holding Will, or simply staring down at the babe for long stretches of time when he thought that its mother had been asleep.

Her hands now traveled the length of his arms and she took hold of his lapels. "Captain . . . you can't leave. You _can't_."

"Understand, Missy, when first we met, I was all too willin' to die, and found myself unable. Now I be able, but altogether unwillin'. Calypso's touched all of us in one way or another, and no doubt it's done somethin' to slow the effects of agin', but it can only be temporary after all. I find myself feelin' worn of late." He ran a hand along her hair as he spoke; she rested her head lamely against his chest. "Death is an unpleasant host, Elizabeth; I've met it more times already than anyone deserves to, and I'd not care to meet it again."

Unbidden, an image flashed through her mind of him, of her infamous pirate captain grown old and decrepit and no longer able to care for himself, and she choked back another sob, suddenly feeling very selfish and a bit ashamed for it. It would never do, she knew, for Captain Hector Barbossa to grow into an old man. Yet she also could not help but feel angry and resentful, and even jealous. She had been familiar with loss from such a young age, and could still remember vividly what it had been like to stand with her father at her mother's grave; he had been down on one knee and she had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, silent tears falling freely down both their faces.

"_But I still have you and you me, and we shall look after each other now, shan't we?" _he had said. But now he was gone. In a matter of months, she had lost him, along with James and Will, and now it would seem that Barbossa was leaving her as well, but somehow she managed to push back the part of her that would have tried to convince him to stay, that she could look after him; she knew his mind had been long made up now, and she resigned to simply cling to these last few moments, to etch every last detail of his face onto her heart lest she forget what he looked like, however doubtful that was.

"I'll miss you," she said, the tears starting anew once more. He hugged her tightly and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Shh, it'll be alright." He knew that time was drawing short, that Captain Turner would be wishing him aboard by sundown, but as he had been on that night nearly eighteen years prior, he found himself unwilling to relinquish his hold on Elizabeth, no longer caring about a man without a heart in his chest. "Crew'll have to take a vote on who'll be replacin' me, but I've a strong suspicion that they'll come to a unanimous decision," he said with a weak smile. "Your own lad's growin' into a good specimen himself, and if ever you be yearinin' for nautical advice, Master Murtogg has proven himself more than capable; 'twould appear he learned well from our friend Norrington." She nodded feebly, her wet cheek still pressed against him. For a few moments, he merely held her close against him, firmly stroking her hair before he brought himself to a resolve to show her by actions what he could not bring himself to say. "Elizabeth . . ." he cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him, as he shook his head, breaking into a wide grin.

And then he kissed her, full and hard on the mouth.

She didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, and in the end, settled with flinging her arms tightly around him and returning the sentiments. It was not at all how one would imagine kissing someone like Barbossa; he seemed to possess all the enthusiasm and virility of someone not yet in his twenties, and in that moment, they might have been two young people in love, as he and Clara had been so very long ago, and not two people torn and scarred by the hurts of life and loss. When they broke apart, he smiled gently, still holding her face in his hands, now wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. She smiled at him fondly, taking his big hand in her own, and with the other, reached up to stroke his face. He closed his eyes, just allowing himself to enjoy the moment, to relish the feeling of her small fingers against his skin, for what was likely to be the last time.

"Yer not like her. Not like her at all", he whispered, opening his eyes. "But I still woulda taken yeh as me own if the fates had allowed, make no mistake."

"I can't say I would have minded much."

"'Course you can't. Now come; Captain Turner be expectin' me."

Shuddering, she let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding, and her grip on his hand tightened. Never had she imagined there would come a time when she would be anything but thrilled to have Will turn up between decades, but at the moment she wished he would take his business elsewhere, _'Anywhere__ but here...' _she thought to herself. Nonetheless, she managed to gather about her what was left of her wits, reluctantly release her hold on Barbossa, and walk stoically back into sight, to where the _Dutchman _awaited two charges and the crew of the _Black Pearl_, though they did not know it, would soon be inducting a new captain.

As he approached the gangplank that he knew he could not cross back from, Barbossa met the eyes of the _Dutchman_'s captain, and for a moment, felt strangely intimidated and uncertain, his once-dead heart racing wildly in his chest. Captain Turner only looked back at him, his face patient and unchanging, as he had seen such incidents many times before now. He only thought that Barbossa would be the last person to ever show hesitance with him, and found it to be an odd and almost startling idea.

Barbossa turned round to face his own crew, a tightening sensation coming to his chest at the looks on their faces, and hoped the feeling inside was not transparent on his face as well. Genteelly, he brought Elizabeth's hand to his lips, pressing them against her knuckles and smiling.

"Farewell, Missy."

Turning to her son, he looked him in the eyes appraisingly, and clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Can I trust ye to look after things in me absence?"

Will gave him a smile that was filled with admiration and respect, and for the first time, it crossed Barbossa's mind that he no longer looked like a boy. "I've had an excellent teacher. I think we'll manage." There was the slightest hint of ruefulness in his expression. "So you're really leaving us, then?"

"Aye." Barbossa answered him with a somewhat solemn nod, before addressing the crew. "Gents, choose well, and there be no need to explain the meanin' of that. Whomever ye name as yer new captain, do 'em well and just remember, we'll be back to collect the lot o' you someday."He had finished the statement with his signature haughty grin, and despite the way some of the crew were hastily brushing away unbidden tears, they all had to laugh. Even if it might have been with _some_ trepidation .

With a sigh, he now turned about to face the beckoning expression of Will Turner, who now seemed torn between the duty he'd taken upon himself and the love of the family he hardly knew. As Barbossa at last began to resolutely stride across the gangplank from which he knew he could not return, his head held high, Captain Turner allowed his gaze to wander to the two people standing aboard the _Pearl_. He noticed now just how much of himself he could see in the young man now; they looked alike in nearly every respect, save for the mischievous flare that could only have come from Elizabeth. The latter now stood in her son's protective and comforting embrace, and had begun to weep openly, tormented at the sight of seeing more of those she loved claimed by that ship, and jealousy for the simple fact that she was not yet able to take that journey.

And yet Barbossa stared back at her fondly, willing her to smile through the tears, this woman who had gone from captive to ally to . . . truthfully, he never could quite decide what she had become to him, but he was glad for it nonetheless. And for all that he had been the one who had spent precious long years with her in life, he knew where her heart truly was, and that some glorious day, she too would be able to step aboard the _Dutchman _and spend an eternity with the man she had loved since first setting eyes on him. He could almost imagine the way the years would fall from her when her long wait, eased only by short visits once every ten years, would at last come to an end and she would forever roam the seas in the arms of William Turner, thus ending the tale of the Lonely Ghost Captain and his ferry. He sighed at the thought.

Captain Turner and his Pirate King bride had really never wanted to be anything more than two people young, and in love, and ready to conquer whatever life threw at them with a smile on their faces and a laugh in their hearts. Certainly they would be able to continue where circumstances had interrupted when Elizabeth Turner began the rest of eternity, however long she may have to wait. Barbossa smiled.

Two young lovers reunited after being separated by numerous decades and death besides? It sounded quite simply wonderful. But as for him? He was not yet ready to leave the sea, and determined himself to serve under Will for however long suited him. He may have enjoyed captaining the _Pearl _for all these years, but no longer cringed now at the thought of letting someone else have the sometimes irksome duties that came with the title. He was also sure that his new captain would be in no hurry to let him go, and it would later turn out he was quite right in thinking that the two of them would spend countless hours in one another's company, with Will sitting almost enraptured, a wide, wistful grin on his face, as Barbossa recounted many tales of his eighteen years spent with Elizabeth and her son. He would likewise press for anecdotes of the dark-haired maiden and the son he had never met.

No one could have known just how much they both pined for those they loved, and yet for now, the _Dutchman _would simply have to do. Will did not have a choice, and for some odd reason, Hector Barbossa felt indebted, though he knew not to whom. God knew all the things he'd done in this life, and that he had been given more than his share of second chances. And now, there was no doubt in his mind that never again would he have to experience death, to be told even by Hades himself that he was unwelcome, never again would he be forced to atone for his many sins. He was a bit unsure of how he had managed to avoid such punishment, but no less glad for being spared.

As they sailed towards the horizon and were met by a terrific green flash, just as he had remembered doing so many years ago on that now fabled journey to rescue Jack, he knew at least one thing, at least for now, once he could get past the irony of sailing alongside two men he had tried diligently to kill, one of them lacking a heart in his chest.

Here, sailing on a ship that many believed not to exist, he was home.

-

**A/N: **You wouldn't have happened to be listening to _'I See Dead People In Boats' _from the At World's End soundtrack, or perhaps _'The Grey Havens' _from Return of the King, would you?

And so, we come to our end. Just to clarify, he did _not _die. As I implied mentioning the song, it was a Grey Havens sort of departure, or open for interpretation, if you like. When I first started this story, it was actually intended as a one-shot, so I have to thank all of you who have read it for your fantastic encouragement and feedback. When I decided that the idea of Elizabeth and her child living with strangers from Singapore and that her only 'next of kin' option would be someone from the Pearl, I didn't know I'd be going along with them this far and I certainly had no idea I would be seeing darling Hector off into the next life. It was not something I planned on, but it felt right. (The fact I'm an absolute sucker for bittersweet endings factors into this) While I really can't stand the thought of him ever going 'away', I was also reminded that no one lives forever. Unless they crew the_ Dutchman_, that is. Lovely loophole provided by Ted and Terry there!

So now we know. Elizabeth loved him and he loved her, though they had a rather strange relationship that combined protector, lover, and friend without crossing any boundaries. I'll be doing another story, hopefully soon, that will be canonical into this one only we'll start when Hec is just a young lad. And maybe learn what life aboard the _Flying Dutchman _is like.

Anyways, another huge thank-you to all of those who apparently loved this story as much as I do. I hope you've enjoyed the final chapter. :)


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